


Minds of their Own

by sian22



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mating Flight, adjusting to weyr life, awkward morning, dragons always know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/pseuds/sian22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, just sometimes, dragons take matters into their own paws…Ch 1 of 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the present pass, 2517, twelve turns after the events of Dragonflight. Just slightly AU in that green riders are sometimes women. A Dragondex of characters comes at the end. :Hope to update every few weeks. My first Pern fic. Any and all feedback accepted gratefully. Unbeta'd, so please excuse the typos.

 

T’gen sighed and wrapped his long fingers around the cup, blew a little harder, cooling off the dark, rich brew.  The first gulp had been too hot.  A small sore patch now stung sharply on one side of his tongue.  It hurt but he found the pain oddly welcome.  It gave something else to nurse than just his klah.  Something other to focus on than his still unsettled thoughts.

 

The big bronze rider slowly and with deliberation raised the cup again, pale blue eyes fixed on some other when.  Absently he tasted.  This time it was hot but not scalding and the warmth of the earthenware was welcome under hand.  The weyr was cool in the pre-dawn chill and he was a little underdressed.

 

T’gen sipped carefully and then with more purpose and cocked an ear.  From the outer ledge he caught the soft wheeze, the quiet scraping and rustling of claw and wing on stone as sleeping dragons shuffled in their dreams.   _Surely_   _those two souls would wake happy with the dawn._

It really was time to move but that thought brought with it a whole other set of considerations.  Turning back, the bronze rider listened intently once again.  From the other side, from the inner weyr beyond the curtain, there came no sound.    _Thank Faranth for that at least._     

 

Serena’s quiet muffled sobs had at last subsided. 

 

T’gen ran a nervous hand through his tousled, sandy hair and sighed. There was no longer any point in waiting.  Done was done and she needed to get past it, accept that an unexpected flight was part of life.  And he… well... he needed to face the possible repercussions.  They would not get any fewer while he hid in the outer weyr, drumming up his courage to face her once again.

 

Only slightly against his better judgement he put the barely-drunk cup back upon the table, mindful of a sheaf of parchment.  Let his long legs  take him quickly to threshold before he had time to change his mind.    

 

This time of day the slanted rays of the rising sun could not pierce far into the recesses of Serena’s west-facing weyr.   He pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain and peered into the darkness.    It was near black as between inside but T’gen had no idea where Serena kept her glows.  Hadn’t noticed _that_ the night before and didn’t dare disturb her now for anything but an unexpected Fall.  

 

His own tired eyes adjusted slowly to the dim.  After a moment he could just make out the pale skin of her back, its steady rise and fall beneath the bright gold cascade of hair.    _At last._   Exhausted from the night and her distress, Serena had, for a mercy, fallen back to sleep.  She lay curled up into a ball, blanket akew, looking for all the world like a little child.   So tiny amidst the expanse of couch. 

 

He grimaced, remembering how fragile she feltwithin his arms _.  Shards_ , it was far too late think of that.   He had _tried_ to be so very careful.   A thoughtful finger touched the throbbing bite on his collarbone.   He was not the only one who had been dragon-roused. 

 

Walking on the pads of his feet T’gen crossed to the couch and placed a second steaming cup of klah upon the low table just beside.  She would find it, and the plate of bread and cheese, when she awoke:  He didn’t think she would want to put in an appearance in the dining cavern. 

 

Tenderly he reached to pull the blanket higher up, smoothed the light wool back in place.  Her pretty, heart-shaped face was blotchy and streaked with tears.  Gods it hurt.  His pride yes, just a little, he liked to think he knew how to be a considerate mate in bed.  But even more, he hated to think of _him_.  If Serena’s shocked storm of emotion was any indication F’mir would be nigh between with rage.  Devastated.  How was he to deal with that? 

 

As gently as he could he brushed a wet stray strand of hair from off her check.  What else now was there for him to do but leave?    

 

Dejectedly he set about the process of finding his errant clothes.  He fumbled around in the dark and tried not to curse, identified by the faint smell of firestone his riding breeches.  It had all happened so very fast, Tirith’s taunting scream and Loranth’s sudden leap, he had had no time to change.   After many minutes futile furtive searching, his hands finally met a pile of discarded clothing on the fur rug beside the press.   Sorting his bigger things from hers, he picked up his leather tunic and shrugged it on, grabbed his boots and gloves and belt  and walked, with a confidence he didn’t feel, out to the sun and warmth of the outer ledge.

 

\---------

 

Loranth slept peacefully, wrapped possessively around his new weyrmate, tail curled almost back to his nose to make space upon the smaller ledge.  Next to the great bronze bulk, the dainty green looked almost tiny, more like a giant fire-lizard than a smaller dragon. Tirith’s elegant, narrow snout rested lightly on the bronze’s right forelimb, her mouth curved just slightly up.  Exhausted, sated, _happy_. 

 

T’gen sighed and smiled affectionately at his beast.  How, by the Egg, had the second biggest bronze in Benden caught its tiniest, fastest green?  Not that his rider wasn’t proud of the feat.  He was.  More than proud and thrilled for his friend.  Loranth was smart and strong and clearly more maneuverable than any of them thought. 

 

But still, it made no sense.  Why had the big lug decided to fly at all? 

 

It wasn’t as if the bronze lacked for chance; Loranth was young and strong and unattached.  Had proven himself once before, caught Lamanth on her maiden flight.  With the Weyr at full fighting strength there were three junior queens to keep the bronzes happy.  More than enough, even with Ramoth off limits to them all.  She would only ever be flown by Mnementh, and T’gen, for one, was happy with that result.  He liked F’lar and the way he led.  The young bronze rider preferred to keep quietly about his business and his Wing’s. He had no ambition beyond that.

 

Still it was all a tangled puzzle.  Moralla’s pretty young queen was the next due to rise.  Why had Loranth not waited for that flight?  

 

The Wingleader’s lop-sided smile twisted higher gazing on the pair.  One thing was certain:  none of the crew had bet on _this_.  No marks would have changed hands last night over _their_ pairing to be sure.  

 

Very gently he reached up with one long arm and rubbed a practiced hand across his dragon’s hard eye ridge.   _“Loranth, great one, we should move.”_

 

An opalescent eye opened slowly, whirling lazily and contentedly blue and green.  _“Why?”_    He was comfortable, the ledge was just warming nicely and Tirith was still asleep.

_“We have work to do later…patrol across the southern ridge.”_

_“Work for you?  After a flight?”_ Even the bronze knew that no one expected them to work today.  They should, in theory, be resting.  Spending time together.  Perhaps getting in another cuddle before making a triumphant entrance to the hall come noon. 

 

 _Fat chance of that._ Best to be elsewhere and give Serena time and space.  

_“Since I am up I would rather not skip it.  You should eat now, have time to digest a little before the flight._ _”_

_“I am hungry.”_ Loranth allowed, both eyes now open reluctantly. 

 

 T’gen caught the slightest hesitation in his tone.  _“Unless you are very tired?”_

The bronze crooned softly and rubbed his neck lovingly along his mate’s.  Tirith stirred but did not wake.   _“No, the flight was not hard or long for_ me _.”_

 

 _“Shells don’t tell Tirith that!”_ he exclaimed _._  It had been a wild, unusually protracted chase.   The little green would be justifiably smug when she awoke.   

 

 _“Why would I?”_  His dragonsounded quite perplexed…

 

“ _Or Serena_.” T’gen thought to himself, watching his friend extricate himself surprisingly deftly for one so large.   Stepping up on the dragon’s proffered leg, the bronze rider looked back once more.   There was no sign of movement.  Both the little dragon and her rider slept on, oblivious to their mate’s early and ignominious departure.  

 

As the pair glided downward through the bowl,  the first bright tinges of pink and gold rising high above the Weyr’s southern edge, T’gen sighed again.  Kept carefully his thoughts all to himself.  

  

_What a Sharding mess…_

 

 

_==========================_

_ Dragondex: Benden Weyr _

****

Gera-  dragon healer;  mother of Tegerran (T’gen)

F’lon- Former Weyrleader (deceased), dragon bronze Simanith

F’lar-  Weyrleader,  dragon bronze Mnementh; son of F’lon and Larna

F’mir:-Wingsecond, dragon brown Sayenth: born beasthold, Bitra

F'nor-Wingsecond, dragon brown Canth.

J’len-  Rider, dragon blue Darth.

Lessa: Weyrwoman,  Queen dragon Ramoth

Manora – Headwoman,  Mother of Famanoran  (F'nor)

Serena-  Rider: dragon green Tirith:  born crafthold,  Bitra

T’gellan- Wingleader, dragon bronze Monarth

T’gen-  Wingleader, dragon bronze Loranth; son of T’kan and Gera.

T’kan-  Wingsecond (retired);  dragon brown Roth; father of Tegerran (T'gen)


	2. Chapter 2

     T’gen sank with relief into his private bathing pool, let the force and warmth of its steady current wash over him with a grateful sigh.    _That was a little better._   The heat and focus cleared his muddled head.   It would be a relief to get the last whiff of firestone from off of his own hide.  He grimaced, imagining how unpleasant he must have smelled last night.  As if they needed _that_.  

     Hoping to wash away the frustration even as he washed the last traces of the flight from his tired body, T’gen waded to the deeper centre and dunked quickly below its steaming surface.  He held his breath until it felt as if his lungs might burst and then with a rush rose up, shaking off the excess water just like a wet canine.  Blindly, rivulets still streaming across his tight-closed eyes, he reached toward the rocky ledge for a cloth and bag of sweetsand to wash.

     T’gen had almost finished cleaning Loranth the day before, Red Butte shining in the distance and the red sand of Keroon glowing through the warm, aqua water, when Monarth had bespoken Loranth to say that Tirith was about to rise.  The notice had been just routine.  Anticipating the event, T’gellan had already arranged with his longtime friend and foster brother to borrow one of T’gen green riders to take Serena’s place in the sweep patrols.   The wingleader had been stunned at the big bronze’s instantaneous reaction. Loranth had risen on his haunches, thrown back his great head and trumpeted loudly in challenge, making it clear he wanted to join in the flight.  The pair had jumped back at once, arriving just as Tirith’s taunting cries had echoed round the bowl. 

     Loranth had dropped a still wet and dirty, and now hastily aroused, T’gen beside the brown and blue riders standing anxiously on the sands and leapt into the sky, the great sweep of his massive wings making up for the precious seconds lost.  Surprised, but quickly becoming caught in the urgency of his dragon’s mounting need, the wingleader had held himself apart from the jesting, jockeying throng, convinced that by the ending of the evening he would be tempering the fire with a jug or two wine.   F’mir’s brown Sayenth had flown Tirith _twelve_ times for Faranth’s sake, no one expected the outcome to be any different. 

      It had been a shock long minutes later to find himself mounting the steps to Serena’s weyr right behind her weyrmate, Sayenth and Loranth battling fiercely to win the pretty green.  Even then he had not expected the final outcome, had nearly lost their link in surprise as his friend dove under a tiring Tirith to catch her, upside down, in his great silver claws.  When the pair’s passion had spiraled wide to weave their riders in their bliss some tiny part of T’gen that still clung to rational thought had not believed what was happening, that it was _he_ clutching Serena’s tiny body to his own, devouring hungrily her mouth, twining his hands in her silky golden hair. 

      That she had not believed it either, oblivious to all but Tirith and drunk on her dragon’s lust, was quite clear from her reaction the morning after.           

      From just outside T’gen could hear the soft rustling and scraping of Loranth in his sleeping couch.  The big bronze was humming quietly, brushing grit and the sand blown in from the bowl into its crevices just as he liked.    _Good,_ he thought guiltilyas he wet the sand and worked into a softly foaming mud.  The big one was occupied.    

      The bronze rider did not like keeping his thoughts from his own dragon. Not at all.  They were a team, honed by five years of Falls, of sharing a bond that only a lucky few could understand.  But how could he sort this tangle through when Loranth was at its heart? 

_What a sharding mess._ Why did the bronze, if he could not wait, have to rise for Tirith?   Serena was part of a long established pair.  Sayanth was the only dragon to have flown the little green since she had matured four years before.  And worse, F’mir was his friend, a good friend, one he valued and was loath to hurt.  T’gen, weyrbred and no stranger to the cycles that were an accepted part of the rhythm of Weyr life, had long subscribed to the adage “As the rider, so goes the dragon.”  Well not this time.  He shook his head.  It was a puzzle.  One he would have to live with, however awkward.   

     Lost in his own thoughts, T’gen ran the sudsy cloth as far down his back as he could reach, scrubbed thoughtfully and dunked down once again.  

       _I thought you liked Serena”_

T’gen winced as Loranth’s low inner voice broke his thoughts.  He had not been quite as ‘quiet’ as he thought.

     “ _I do…”_  he admitted to his friend.     The petite and elegant green rider was hard not to like.  Competent.  Caring.   Endlessly enthusiastic about everyone and everything around her.  Of course he liked her….but she belonged to someone else.   And of all the greens at Benden why did it have to be _hers_?   

     “ _Then why are you upset?”_ The bronze’s tone was one of complete bafflement.   “ _Serena is upset.  Tirith is upset because Serena is upset..  She should not be upset.  Nor you.  We flew well..high and far.”_  

      Now the big one sounded proud.  If only the issue was about performance. 

     “ _That you did, my friend.  She is not upset with_ you _. She is shocked and surprised that’s all.”_   And worried about her weyrmate’s reaction, he thought ruefully, but didn’t tell Loranth that.    For a man who did not like to look too far around awkward corners, who preferred life on an easy, even keel, this unsettledness was an altogether unfamiliar feeling. 

      Scooping up another handful of sweetsand, he scrubbed hard at his short-cropped scalp.  The sandy blond waves, kept short for ease under the flying cap, had a tendency to whorl in all directions. They would only behave when they were freshly washed.  He ducked his head and rinsed, ran a large hand through the short ends to settle them in place.

      As he reached across the narrow lip for a towel that lay haphazardly across a chair a blue streak flashed past his head. 

     A fire lizard had darted in, chirping in excitement smugly, circling the cavern and clearly pleased to have found his goal.  Before T’gen could raise his arm and coax the little one to alight the blue had turned on his tail again and zipped away.

     The bronze rider sighed.  It could be none other than his mother’s lizard Wren.   Gera was looking for him.   Wondering how the flight had gone of course. 

      From beyond the curtain a bass rumble sounded.  He could feel it in his toes, in the bubbles that shimmied in the current.   

      “ _I am hungry…and my wing tip hurts_.”

      Ah.  So Loranth had been fouled by brown Sayanth after all.  “ _Did you see Wren streak by…?”_

      “ _Yes and he was most discourteous in his haste_.”

      T’gen chuckled at the sense of affront leaking through their link.  “ _Then shall we stop and see Mother on our way to feeding ground_?”

      Loranth blew a rumbling breath by way of assent and by the time his rider had dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches, was waiting anxiously on their perch, eyes whirling with the red-brown of growing hunger.

 

      The pair glided downward lazily through the fresh morning air.  Already in these late, lingering days of summer the winds had switched, brought cooler air down from the Great Ice to the north.  It was a relief after the high hot days and meant that weyrfolk, including the Weyr’s dragon healer, could work in the bowl without too very much discomfort.

      It was there that T’gen found his mother, Gera, tending to a disconsolate-looking blue. 

      “Give me a minute, please.  I will be with you shortly.”  The sturdy, athletic woman perched on the ladder spoke absently, poised in the act of reaching across a folded, obviously Thread-laced wing.  T’gen had to step aside as a bloody bandage, tinged green with dragon ichor, plopped wetly to the ground. 

      “Menith, please keep still.” the healer implored quietly, seconded by a scolding cheep from the hovering blue fire lizard.  Gera grabbing at the blue’s neck ridge as Menith shifted and groaned quietly in pain.  “Rider, would you help me steady his off-right vane?”

      The rider in question grinned and raised a hand to where his mother imperiously pointed.  Any creature, human, dragon or firelizard that came within ten feet of Gera’s work was routinely pressed into service.

      “Certainly Gera.  Good morning Menith.”  T’gen replied, taking a firm hand of the  nearest patch of leathery blue hide.   He looked but did not spy the dragon’s rider, not a good sign at all.  “Where is R’lor?”  he asked with a worried frown.  R’lor was in N’ton’s wing.  He did not know the young man well but unless he too were injured, and seriously at that, the dragon’s rider would be there, hovering with worry.

      “Oh, hello T’gen..”  Gera looked down, blinking in surprise and smiling wide, having only just noticed her impromptu assistant was her son.  “He is dosed insensible with fellis juice, though thankfully he will not lose his eye..”

      At the mention of his rider the blue warbled piteously and tried to flap his uninjured wing.  Wren whistled in alarm, as worried about their patient as his human.  “Menith, please.. R’lor will be just fine in time.  As will you, brave heart.”   

      Loranth, settled on the sand nose to nose with the little blue, crooning soothingly and for the next several minutes all stayed still, except for the healer who deftly applied numbweed and a fresh bandage over the light wicker supporting the damaged wing.  

       With a satisfied sigh Gera gave her patient’s neck a final pat and stepped nimbly down, absently handing scissors and spare bandage to the bronze rider to hold.  Only when her things had been neatly stowed back in the leather kitbelt she wore about her tunic did she reach up on her tiptoes and plant a welcoming kiss on her giant of a son.

      “Thank you dear.  It is lovely to have a hand and see you this sunny morn.” 

       T’gen grinned, hugging her hard and setting her back gently on her feet.     Half a head again above F’lar and N’ton, T’gen was his father in build and stance but he was his mother in his looks.  The same light blue eyes smiled up at him from a tanned and heart-shaped face framed by waving, sandy hair.  Even now in middle-age Gera had the appealing, fresh genuineness that had first drawn his father’s eye.  And the determination. He knew full well what the price of her assistance would be.

      “Mother do you have some salve?” he asked. “Lor fouled a tip and I’d like to cover it before we fly this afternoon.”   

      “Certainly,” she replied, turning to rummage in a nearby chest.  The wooden cart, wheeled to move easily in the sand, was stuffed with all sorts of strongly-smelling jars and pots, including the blessed but stinky numbweed that soothed many a man and beast.  As a boy it had been his job to help keep the wagon stocked.

      Gera pulled out a small brown pot, pried open the hinged lid and took an expert sniff. She was a little nearsighted but did not need to read the labels to know her own compounds, she had each memorized by scent and feel.  “This will do.  Loranth, let me see the wound would you please?”

       Obediently the bronze moved to the side and extended his left wing for her inspection.  Nicks and grazes were a common part of any mating flight, but thankfully the serious injuries were rare. 

      Gera leaned in and peered closely as the slowly oozing cut.  “Hmmm.  Looks like a dorsal claw, not a paw.  It is not too deep.” 

      Loranth whistled appreciatively as she spread the thick pink ointment over the shallow gouge.  “What about Tirith?” Gera looked back over shoulder at her relieved son, one fine eyebrow arched and a twinkle in her eye. 

     T’gen opened his mouth to ask how she knew but quickly closed it once again.    _Of course she knew._   Gera always made it a point to know which dragons were in the air.  And there would have been a fair few riders drowning their sorrows in the hall last night.  Word would have spread like a burrow in a softwood stand.  He could not help the blush that crept up his neck.

      “Tirith looked fine to me...”  T’gen replied, trailing off in embarrassment.  _Please Mother do not ask more._   He would be mortified enough when word got round about his early morning rise.  

      “Up early?”  The eyebrow raised higher still.  

      He groaned.  Sometimes for all her preoccupation with her charges Gera could be too perceptive by half.    “Serena is still asleep.” he mumbled.   Or is back to sleep, he thought, remembering with chagrin their fraught exchange in the early light of dawn. The last thing he wanted to admit was why he had risen and fled her weyr.

      Gera, a thoughtful look in her own blue eyes, latched back the lid on the little pot and handed it to him to keep.  Perhaps she knew when not to press her thoughtful and sometimes bashful son.   “If you are taking Loranth to feed would you bring your father and his Roth?  M’ret just went back on active duty and we haven’t a spare fit rider so far this sevenday.” 

      “Oh, of course.”  T’gen replied, relieved to find he had an errand to fill the morning hours before patrol.  “I should have thought of it.”   He put the salve in the pocket of his tunic and bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

      “You have had other things on your mind.”  

       “Mother!”  This time there was no doubt.  There was an ill-concealed smirk on Gera’s sunny face when she turned to usher Menith out of the warming sun and into the healing weyr.

     As T’gen slapped Loranth good-naturedly on the flank and made to mount he thought ruefully sometimes he could envy holdsmen their more private ways.    

 

\-------------------

      Loranth backwinged to land upon the ledge of the lower weyr, stretching out his foreclaws for firm purchase on the scored and weathered rock.   Roth, his father’s older but still vigorous brown, strode excitedly out of the cavern and warbled a happy welcome, his eyes whirling with the pale green of delight.  He hung back just before the ledge, making space for the bigger bronze to rest. 

      T’gen slipped down to the stone and bowed courteously to the brown dragon in greeting..”Good morning Roth.”  

      “ _Good morning T’gen_.”  The light tenor of Roth’s inner voice was a welcome sound. It was as familiar, as much a part of his childhood, as his mother’s merry laugh or his father’s drier chuckle.   Raised by his parents for Gera refused to foster her only child, by the time he stood as a candidate young Tegeran had been so used to dragons, so used sleeping under Roth’s protective wing, that no one had been the least bit surprised that he had Impressed.  He counted himself lucky.  Most boys in the lower caverns were fostered out, raised by surrogate not tied up with full-time roles and sometimes not even having acknowledged fathers.  It made him grateful and given the typically loose associations of the Weyr, unusually close to both of his parents.        

      T’gen left the bronze and brown to their whistled welcomes and made his way through the vaulted passage to the inner chamber where his father T’kan sat, a fur across his legs and book laid out on his lap. 

      The grey-haired rider looked up, a broad smile lighting his dark blue eyes at the sight of company.  “Lad, good morning…this is an unexpected pleasure!  What brings you by?”   

     Searching the familiar, careworn face for telltale signs before he answered, T’gen   found to his relief no more lines of fatigue and pain than were usual. He hugged the frail body carefully in greeting.   “I am taking Loranth to feeding grounds T’kan.  I thought he and Roth might go together.”   

     “And your mother put you up to it.”  His father grinned lopsidedly.  T’kan knew his weyrmate.    Quietly but with force Gera ordered them all around and she would as always quite happily call on their son to lend a hand.   “Much obliged son, but I can wait.  Surely you have more important duties to attend.”  

      T’kan had been beyond proud when his son had made wingleader so very young, would not dream of interrupting his routine.  Of the three boys to impress a bronze from Ramoth’s early clutch, T’gen, N’ton, and T’gellan, it had been careful, conscientious T’gen who had first gained his shoulder knots.  Sometimes even he still did not believe it.

      T’gen shrugged. “Loranth needs to hunt this morning and we were just passing by.”   It was a game they played, pretending that great efforts were not made to keep T’kan and Roth fit and fed, assuaging the brown rider’s sense of guilt that he was less able than before.    

      “Well then..”  With shaking fingers, T’kan awkwardly flipped shut the pages of the book.  He waited patiently while his son took down a worn and faded weyrhide jacket from off a hook and helped him to shrug the heavy garment on.  It was not far and not too cold but old habits would not break.  A rider always wore weyrhide when riding on a dragon. 

      Tying the heavy belt in its customary knot, T’gen left the fur in place and carefully tucked his strong arms under T’kan’s knees and shoulders.   He lifted his father up and carried him back along the passage and out to Roth’s sunny, east-facing ledge.   There he sat the man down for a moment inside the circle of his dragon’s front paws while he fixed a second set of riding straps to Loranth’s neck.   

     Tenderly, with a warm wuff of greeting, the brown dragon dipped his head down to touch so very gently his rider’s shoulder.  T’kan reached up awkwardly, wrapped thin arms around the brown’s nose and hugged.  As always, the simple and unaffected joy of their togethernesss made T’gen’s heart clench within his chest.

      T’kan was dying.  For years it had been very slow.  The disease that wasted his muscles moved inexorably but the changes had at first not been so very visible.  A tremor here, a dropped mug there, until the shaking and the weakness could not be ignored.  Lately it moved more swiftly and each day brought a subtle downward step.  Now the veteran rider could not hold his body still in flight, could not walk for long nor even feed himself without some help.   

      It was heartbreaking.  But with the same stalwart determination that had made him F’lon’s valued wingsecond, T’kan lived day to day as fully as he could.  A small army of weyrlings and others helped.  Able riders of injured dragons were paired with the experienced brown to take patrols.  A rotation of off-duty riders were available to take the rider where he was needed.  T’kan had happily helped teach the weyrling classes as much as his fatigue allowed, but of late, more cramped and pained, even that work had been reluctantly abandoned. 

      “Thank you Loranth for the escort.”  The big bronze crooned and laid his neck flat along the ledge to make it easier for the brown rider to mount.  T’gen lifted his father and gently settled him between the next-to-last neck ridge.  It was not difficult.  Once a big man like his son, T’kan had lost so much weight and muscle in recent months he weighed no more than a stripling.  Carefully and precisely the bronze rider clipped on extra safety straps and slipped behind.  One strong arm he wound around his father’s chest to hold him fast and tight.  

      “Ready?” he asked.

       At T’kan’s nod Loranth rose and with a single great downsweep sprang aloft.    They glided smoothly north, across the sands of the bowl, past the lake sparkling in the early morning sun and on toward the feeding grounds. 

      Roth, still agile for all his years, overtook them quickly and began to swoop and dive and roll in lazy circles, putting on a show of joyful aerial acrobatics that had the resident fairs of fire lizards chirping in delirious excitement. 

      “ _Roth is happy to see_ him _with me_.”  Loranth sounded pleased and very proud.  T’gen was too busy holding T’kan steady to look, but he knew the expression that would be on his father’s face.   An infectious grin.   

      The brief flight was over far too quickly.  Loranth landed on a grassy knoll overlooking the hunting ground and waited patiently for his rider to lift down their guest and remove the flying straps.   Below, the brown had already turned on his tail and dove into the drowsing flock of wherries, trumpeting his excitement.  His maneouvre set the beasts stampeding down the slope but with neat efficiently Roth quickly picked out a victim, dispatched the fowl and lifted it in his claws, alighting on the heights to feed.

       _“I am very hungry.”_   Loranth watched the show intently, eyes whirling faster, but did not leave.  T’gen knew his friend wanted to be certain he was not needed.

       _“Then go….”_

The two riders settled down upon the grass withT’gen supporting his father’s back against his upraised knees.   Although Roth was quite capable of hunting on his own, as T’kan had grown ever weaker the brown had developed an aversion to being unnecessarily separated from his rider.  It also did T’kan good to move as much as possible, to get out of his weyr and be a part of all that went on. 

      The older man smiled and saluted as a pair of other riders landed across the verge, their blues warbling a welcome before diving into the fray.  They soon had the herd in a tizzy, all whistles of fear and fright, tail feathers fanned in fear as the clipped creatures tried frantically to escape.

     Roth, who tended to eat lightly at the best of times, satisfied himself with hunting out a second serving while Loranth gorged himself on his first kill. 

      “He is a canny one.”  remarked T’gen, watching the brown swoop silently but swiftly down on an unsuspecting nearer group of herdbeasts. 

      “He is that.”  T’kan remarked, watching with evident delight his dragon in flight.   Roth’s sleek brown hide flashed in the sun as he spun quickly back with his prize, displaying all the strength and grace that had won him many contests in the Games.  The only sign of his greater age was a little sagging of the skin below his jaw and a few patches of lighter brown upon his muzzle.

       Loranth finished his fowl and launched himself again, striking at a big juicy buck.  The bronze wheeled up and settled back beside the wherry carcass, holding his meal in red and silver talons.  The moist rending of flesh and crunching of bone could be just faintly heard above the noise of wherry flock.  Before long he was back in the air and hunting for a third.

 _“Lor hold off, we have patrol this afternoon.”_ His friend bellowed loud in protest but desisted grudgingly.  With a great meaty sigh he landed back beside the smaller Roth and began to lick his foreclaws.

      T’kan grinned and nodded toward the great bronze beast.   “He worked up an appetite.”

      “We flew Fall yesterday.” T’gen explained.  “And took part in a flight last night.”  he added after a moment’s thought.  Perhaps his mother hadn’t mentioned anything…   

      “You _are_ up early today.”   T’kan observed, a glint of mischief in his still piercing dark blue eyes.  His son groaned.

      “Not you too!”

     “The other being..?”

     “Mother!”  T’gen answered with such force that T’kan chuckled, giving vent to the

     loud wheeze that passed for his once booming laugh.  

     “I am surprised that your mother even noticed.”  

      If it did not concern dragons Gera was often quite happily oblivious. 

      “Well she did ask if Tirith was ok.”

      The brown rider snorted.  “But not…?”

      “Serena.”  T’gen explained.

       T’kan nodded. “I was surprised Loranth bothered in way.  Doesn’t Lamanth rise again quite soon? ” He shifted uncomfortably, casting an eye to the lip of the Bowl where the three golden junior queens glowed in the morning sun.  He had been in one position a bit too long.

      “I was surprised too.”  T’gen knew his father was waiting for more details on the story but waited for a bit, resettling the man’s thin frame his against his chest before continuing on.   

     “Serena was not pleased.” 

      The blue eyes grew round in surprise.  “Sorry lad. I take it this was unexpected.  Awkward for you.”

      “Not just awkward.” he admitted.  “When she realized her weyrmate wasn’t in her bed she was upset.   She all but threw me out.”

      “Shards.  That is unfortunate.”  An unexpected mating flight was a possibility in any rider’s life.  Particularly a green rider whose charge rose to mate more often and at times indiscriminately.  “I remember her.  She is hold-bred is she not?”  The same steel trap memory that had made T’kan a superb and valued wingsecond was still at work.  The disease may have ravaged his body but not his brain. 

      “Yes but she’s had a steady mate for years.”  _Unlike me._   T’gen did not say it but the lack of a consistent partner rankled him sometimes.  It wasn’t in his steady nature to play the field as some riders did.  He wanted stability.  The sort of secure, loving pairing his parents showed could work. 

      T’kan eyed his son thoughtfully.  “Having more holdbred boys and girls stand for impression has worried me.  I understand F’lar’s reasons but some things about weyr-life do not suit some hold-bred folk.”   

      The younger man knew that despite some disagreement the veteran rider respected his weyrleader greatly, particularly so for that he was the son of his longtime friend and partner.   T’kan had been proud to fly against the Thread that F’lon had predicted.  Before the first of tremors could not be ignored.    

      “Some of them enjoy it.  Like Kylara.” T’gen replied bitterly.  “That one was a beast in heat.”   

      T’kan grunted and shuddered, echoing the sadness and frustration they all felt.  By that woman’s narcissistic actions they had lost two Queens and nearly lost Brekke as well.  She would always carry the pain of her dragon’s loss, but thankfully the soft spoken weyrwoman was no longer just a shell, had come back to herself once again, with the support of her mate F’nor. 

      Thinking of their surprising bond brought T’gen back to his own, thankfully more prosaic worries.  There were other couples like his parents with only one rider in the pair.  Others who were forced to share their mate when a dragon responded to their natural and instinctive urges.       

      “How did Mother handle it when Roth rose?” he asked suddenly, marshaling the courage to ask a question he had long pondered.   Gera had never Impressed a dragon nor could she talk to all dragons like Brekke and Lessa, for her affinity and love for the great beasts. 

      T’kan gave a roguish smile.  “She made a determined reclaiming of her property afterwards..”  The young man grimaced.  That was not an image he particularly wanted in his head.

     His father chuckled hoarsely at the shocked expression on his face.  “You did ask.":  The bronze rider shrugged and let a grin tug at the corners of his mouth.  He clearly hadn’t expected the answer he would get!

       “The only thing that you can do lad is be respectful.  Tirith was _your_ dragon’s mate after all.  You cannot change her rider’s reaction but you can control yourself.  Act how you want to be treated.”

      Wise words and ones that T’gen would try to heed.  The two men sat, companionably silent, watching their dragons fondly for a while.  Loranth lay in the sun and dozed, noisily digesting, while Roth delicately stripped the last morsels from off the herdbeast’s ribs.  From his father’s quiet smile it was clear he was enjoying the sight of his dragon’s satiation.       

      T’gen idly plucked at a stray buttercup in the grass,  fretting and pondering more what had been said.  He knew his father was right in theory but the bronze rider still worried about the repercussions, about his friend’s reaction.  F’mir adored his weyrmate and could at times be a little jealous.  If he was honest with himself T’gen had to admit he also worried that he himself had done something to contribute to the situation.  He had always fancied Serena, had found her bubbly, outgoing personality and delicate fair looks appealing. Could his own unspoken attraction have somehow influenced his dragon’s needs, influenced Loranth to rise?  He hoped not but in his heart of hearts he knew it was not so easy to dismiss.

      “What’s is bothering you my lad?”  asked T’kan into the quiet, laying an only slightly less than steady hand on his son’s broad shoulder.  “You are still worrying this like spit dog with a bone.”     

      T’gen’s voice when at last he answered was flat, giving voice to the anxiety he could not hide.  “I worry because F’mir is holdbred too, that he didn’t expect that this could happen.  But more than that I worry because he is my second.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very very much to those who kudo'd the first chapter. Your encouragement really helps.... :)


End file.
